Black Lace

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Okay, get off at the next exit and let’s see what he does.”

  Ida got over into the far right lane. “Here he comes,” she said with her eyes raised to the mirror. “He’s behind a Focus and an old Firebird.”

  They climbed the exit, and the van got in behind a couple of cars and followed them off the freeway. Ida turned right onto Van Dyke, passed Kettering High School, and the tail did the same. “Shall I take him on a slow trip to China?”

  “Yeah. Do you know where the closest precinct is?”

  She nodded.

  “Make your way over there. Then let’s see if he’ll follow us into the lot.”

  Lacy could feel the tension in the air. One minute they’d been laughing about the new Tyler Perry play coming to town, and now they were silent.

  Fish wasn’t sure if the people in the Caddy had busted him, but the way the lady was driving made him think they had. She didn’t seem to have a real destination in mind, just randomly turning corners here and there. Frustrated, he knew he had to decide if he should keep following her and risk actually being busted, or drop off the chase and come up with another way to find her house. After another few of her maddening turns, he chose the latter.

  “He’s gone,” Ida said, her serious eyes focused on her rearview mirror.

  “Good,” Walter replied, “but keep an eye out. Don’t want him turning up again and we not know it.”

  They all agreed.

  That evening after dinner, Walter, who had been sleeping upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms for the past few days, moved his gear down to the living room. Neither Lacy, Ida or Herbert gave him a hard time, because after the encounter with the van, they were all feeling a little paranoid. Having him downstairs on the front line might make a difference in everyone’s safety.

  In bed now, Lacy’s worries about the van were set aside by thoughts of Drake. She wondered how he was doing and if he was enjoying Japan. She looked down at the sapphire on her finger. There was just enough light from the streetlamp outside to make the stone twinkle like a star. She closed her eyes and sent him a mental message to let him know how much she loved him and that she was safe. Every fiber of her being knew that she and Drake were going to have a good life together, have children together, and make love in a thousand places in a thousand scandalous ways. Madison could go to hell.

  The man on the phone, using his most articulate voice, explained his dilemma to the nice woman at the suburban Secretary of State’s office on the other end of the line. “I found someone’s license in the street this morning on the way to work. Do you guys have any way of finding out who it belongs to? It has a valid sticker. The person probably doesn’t even know it’s gone.”

  “You should take it to the nearest precinct, sir.”

  He replied calmly, “But I have the plate right here in my hand. If I take it to the precinct, there’s no telling how long it may sit. This is Detroit, ma’am,” he said with that hint of sarcasm in his voice that non-Detroiters used when dissing the city or its services. To keep her on the line, he said humbly, “I know you’re probably worried about identity theft and all that, but I don’t need the person’s phone number, just the address so I can leave it on the porch or in the mailbox.” Then he paused and added, “I’m a Christian. A lot of other people just ran the thing over. I almost did too, but I thought about what if it had been my plate? What would I want somebody to do with it? Sort of like, what would Jesus do?”

  For a long moment there was silence on the other end, then the woman finally said, “Okay, sir. Give me the number.”

  The man with the fish eyes grinned like a shark, picked up a small piece of paper and calmly recited the numbers of Ida’s license plate.

  That night, the Richardson household was treated to a surprise. Drake! Lacy ran to him, and he held her as if he’d been gone for months.

  “What are you doing back?” Lacy asked excitedly.

  “When we got to London, one of the execs got a call that our Japanese host had been hospitalized with a heart problem and the meetings were cancelled, so we turned around and came home.”

  She was so glad to see him.

  “And since nobody downtown knows I’m back, I had Malcolm drop me off. I thought I’d join the party and sleep here, Ida, if that’s okay with you and Herbert?”

  Ida asked, “Am I going to have to put Herbert outside Lacy’s room to keep you from sneaking in after everybody goes to sleep?”

  Drake grinned. “No, ma’am.”

  Walter said, “I don’t know, Mrs. Richardson. I wouldn’t trust him. You know how politicians lie.”

  Drake said, “Would you shut up? I’m trying to work my deal here!”

  Everyone laughed.

  Then Drake said to Ida, “I promise to be a good mayor and not sneak into my fiancée’s bedroom.”

  Ida said with mock warning, “Okay now. I still have the belt I used to use on my boys. Don’t make me have to bring it out.” Then she smiled and said sincerely, “Of course you’re welcome to stay.”

  Every morning around six-thirty Herbert went out to the driveway to start his wife’s car. His baby liked her car warm when she got inside. Even though it was May on the calendar, there were still days when the early morning air was cool enough to need heat, and today was one of them. Still in his pajamas and slippers, Herbert started the engine. Once it purred to life, he got out, used the spare clicker to lock the door so no fool jacker could drive off with it, and turned back to go inside. But as he turned he felt the nose of a gun press sharply into his back and he froze.

  “’Mornin’,” the man behind him said. “Up the steps.”

  Though Herbert was a big man, he wasn’t a stupid one, so he played along, for now.

  When Walter saw Herbert being escorted in the door by a gunmen, he immediately went for his weapon, only to hear, “Throw it over here or I’ll shoot him!”

  Ida, still in her housecoat, came out of the kitchen and whispered in a sick voice, “Oh, Jesus.”

  Walter, faced with no options, did as he was told, but for damn sure didn’t like it. Lacy, standing beside Ida, met the cold fish eyes of the man of her nightmares, but for some reason she wasn’t as scared for herself as she was for Herbert. Drake was upstairs getting dressed.

  “Now,” Madison barked, “Ms. Green, you’re coming with me. And don’t anybody else move.”

  But Herbert was an Oprah fan—watched her Monday to Friday—and he’d seen the show on what to do in a situation like this one. So when Lacy moved to step forward, Herbert immediately went limp. The move caught Madison by surprise. A split second later two shots rang out, both of them hitting Madison in the chest. His eyes widened even farther and he peered down at the blood. Lacy was surprised too.

  Ida stood beside her with brimstone in her eyes. She’d fired through the pocket of her chenille housecoat, leaving a ragged black-edged hole. Ida lowered her aim, but it was the second shot, the one Drake, on the stairs, had put in Madison’s heart, that crumpled him to his knees and then to the floor.

  The police and EMS were there eight minutes later. One team of emergency technicians rushed the near death Madison to Detroit Receiving Hospital, while the other stayed to check out Herbert, who kept insisting he was fine. Ida, who was still fussing, cussing and calling Madison out of his name for having the nerve to threaten her Herbert, soon calmed down enough to be interviewed by the police. Drake was holding a very grateful Lacy, who was glad it was finally over.

  After everyone gave the police their statements, the police left to file their reports, the neighbors went back into their homes, and the Richardson home was quiet again.

  Lacy gave Ida the strongest hug she could. “Thank you so much.”

  Ida hugged her back. “It’s all over now, girlfriend. All over.”

  Lacy was thankful. Whether Madison lived or died, he was no longer a threat to her or anyone else. She and Drake would have that life.

  As she and Drake looked on, Walter sai
d, “That was some real good shooting, Mrs. Richardson.”

  Herbert had his arm around his wife and crowed, “You got that right. Baby, you saved my life.”

  “Yep, and I want a cruise as my reward.”

  He grinned down at her and said, “Call ’em up.”

  While the excited Ida ran to get her cruise line brochures, Lacy left Drake for a moment so she could call Janika. She told her she might be coming to the office later.

  Ida said, “But I’m taking the next few days off. Got to counteract the stress of saving Herbert’s life.”

  An amused Lacy promised to sign the vacation request just as soon as she got downtown.

  That night, Lacy and Drake stood in her apartment all alone; no Walter, no Madison, no nobody, and it was a glorious feeling. Madison was dead, according to the call she’d gotten from Detective Franks. He said Madison had lived long enough to give the police information that would impact the ongoing Parker trial, and she was glad to hear that as well. Ida would not be charged because she’d shot Madison in self-defense, and so had Drake.

  Now, Lacy tossed some bath salts into her large claw-foot tub, turned on the water, and called out, “This tub may not be big enough for two, but if I sit on your lap we should be okay.”

  Drake appeared in the door like magic. A nude and well-loved Lacy looked over at him and said, “Thought that would bring you running.”

  Drake grinned and said, “You got any spinach?”

  Lacy laughed, then beckoned him to the tub.

  Drake didn’t have to be asked twice.

  Nineteen

  Thursday, May 19, was Lacy’s birthday, and she began the one-woman celebration by enjoying a call from her mother and by taking the day and Friday as vacation days. Seated on her apartment’s hardwood floors, which were dappled by the warm beams of the sun, she sipped coffee and read the morning paper. The first article of interest had to do with Reynard Parker. His attorney was asking for a change of venue. The circus atmosphere orchestrated by Wilton’s people and the genuine anger of the city’s residents over Parker’s alleged toxic dumping crimes were making it hard for her client to receive a fair trail, or so she said. Lacy raised her thumb and forefinger and played the attorney the world’s tiniest violin for her whining, then turned the paper to the sports.

  Her phone rang. It was the building manager, Wanda Moore. “Ms. Lacy?”

  “’Morning, Wanda. What’s up?””

  “You have some packages down here.”

  Lacy was surprised to hear that, since she didn’t remember ordering anything. “Be down in a minute.” She threw some sweats on over her pajamas and grabbed her keys.

  The packages turned out to be a bit more than that. Wanda’s office was filled with roses. There were vases everywhere; on her desk, the floor, her chairs. There were three on top of the file cabinets and another two on the windowsills. You couldn’t take a step without brushing by a vase, and all Lacy could do was stare around with her hands over her mouth.

  Wanda grinned and asked, “Are all the mayor’s brothers married?”

  Lacy laughed, then her amazement returned. “Girl, will you look at all this?”

  “I’m looking and I’m thinking, His Fineness is a helluva man.”

  There were white roses and red roses, and yellows and blues; oranges and bicolors that were peach and gold. Some were tall and others were miniatures, but each and every bloom put a sheen of joyful tears in Lacy’s eyes.

  Wanda watched her with tears of her own. “Now you got me bawling. Here’s the note.”

  Lacy took it, but instead of reading the note, put it her pocket, then walked around the room and picked some of the roses out of the vases. Once she had a dozen, she presented them to the confused Wanda.

  “What are these for?”

  “For firing Leon, the so-called security guard.”

  Wanda hollered, and once she stopped laughing, said, “Any time. Now, let’s see if we can find a U-Haul to get all this up to your place.”

  It took three trips before all of the roses were in their new home. Lacy couldn’t stop smiling at the beauty. The colors made her apartment look like a florist’s shop, and with the soft breeze floating in through her seventeen open windows, it smelled like one as well.

  Only then did she reach into her pocket and take out Drake’s note. It read simply:

  Happy birthday.

  Love, D.

  She placed the note against her heart and sighed the contented sigh of a woman in love with a good man.

  Seated in his office, Drake’s thoughts were on Lacy. He hoped she’d gotten the flowers by now. He’d gone overboard, yes, but he attributed that to hanging around with his Midas of a brother Mykal, known for buying up all the flowers on the east side for Sarita. Drake also attributed his largesse to how much he loved her. Lacy was the one for him; he’d said it before and he’d keep saying it until they put him in his grave. He couldn’t wait to have a bunch of little dark-skinned baby girls that all looked like their mama and grandmas. Mavis had been ecstatic over the wedding news, as had his sisters. She was already looking at dates to reserve the church.

  When Lacy’s buzzer blared, she went to the box. “Yes?”

  “Open up, baby. It’s Dr. Lovemaster.”

  She laughed and hit the button.

  When she opened the door to his knock, he immediately picked her up, swung her around joyously, then kissed her soundly. “Happy birthday, soon-to-be Mrs. Lacy Randolph.”

  “Thank you.”

  They stood holding each other for few sweet moments longer, letting their love mingle and meld, and savoring the feel of being together again. She finally closed the door, and with an arm around each other’s waists, they walked into the apartment. Drake looked around and smiled. “I didn’t realize I’d ordered so many!”

  “Yeah, you did. And I love each and every one of them.”

  He took a moment to check them all out. “Were you surprised?”

  “Totally. I told you my birth date that one time. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

  “It’s my Vachon romance gene. I keep trying to tell you, but you don’t want to listen.”

  Lacy was so happy she thought she might burst.

  On Monday morning Lacy and Ida walked over to the courthouse to see what was going to happen with Reynard Parker’s lawyer’s request to have the trial moved. The papers were full of the story, and there were additional articles on the new murder charges filed by the prosecutor. The cadaver dogs found bits and pieces of human remains in one of Parker’s landfills. The preliminary findings indicated the remains belonged to a man named Wheeler, Parker’s former accountant. According to Drake, Madison had given the police the information on where Wheeler might be just before he died.

  Over the weekend, the radio talk shows had reverberated with irate callers convinced that Parker’s ties to the governor were going to get him off, but Lacy didn’t buy it. She hadn’t seen anything in the papers or the TV about the governor intervening, and with the issue of urban dumping such a hot potato, she thought the lady governor too smart to get mired in what was for sure political poison.

  The crowds around the court were even larger than they were during the preliminary hearings. Lacy didn’t see Wilton. She’d read in the paper that morning that he’d hopped a plane last night to go lead a protest in Virginia, and she was glad he was gone. His people were still in town, though, chanting, singing, and carrying signs. Most of the people around the court looked local, however, and Lacy knew that once Wilton’s folks left town, these were the people who would carry on the fight. As she climbed the steps, she saw a woman in a BAD T-shirt. Lacy thought about Melissa Curtis, whose life had now been avenged, and about Lenny Durant. She wondered what had happened to him.

  The judge listened to the arguments set forth by Parker’s lawyer and the counterarguments of the attorney representing the Prosecutor’s Office. In the end the judge decided to take the defense’s position under advi
sement, and the packed courtroom rose up as one and voiced their protests. It got so rowdy, the bailiffs put their hands on their guns, policemen stationed in the hallways stepped inside the room to let their presence be seen, and the judge banged her gavel for order. Lacy didn’t agree with the judge’s ruling either, but there was nothing anyone could do but accept it and hope the right thing would be done.

  Many of the spectators Lacy and Ida passed on their way to the doors leading outside were grumbling angrily. They were sure the judge was going to rule for the defense, and once the venue was changed to the suburbs, Parker might get little more than a fine and a slap on the wrist for polluting their neighborhoods.

  Lacy stepped out into the sunshine. She and Ida were going down the stairs when they heard two loud pops. Gunfire. Everyone hit the ground. People were screaming and others were looking around, terrified, waiting to see if any more bullets were incoming. Then Lacy heard sirens and saw police cars whipping around the corner and go tearing off. She didn’t realize how fast she was breathing. A uniformed officer appeared at the top of the steps and all eyes swung his way. Talking through a bullhorn, he told everyone to leave the area. He wasn’t taking any questions, though. He just advised everyone to leave.

  Lacy and Ida picked themselves up off the wide stone steps and hurried back to the office so they could turn on the TV and find out what the shooting had been about.

  The story was on all channels. Reynard Parker had been shot and killed by two bullets from a high speed rife while walking from the back entrance of the courthouse to his attorney’s car. The lady lawyer hadn’t been injured, but Parker died instantly. As Lacy watched the report unfolding with the other women in the office, she shook her head.

  The shooter who police had yet to identify was in custody, according the reporter, and more on the story was promised for the evening news. She clicked the remote and turned it off.

  Neither she nor Drake were the least bit surprised that Parker’s killer turned out to be Lenny Durant. They were in the mayor’s mansion the next day, watching the shackled environmentalist take the traditional perp walk for the TV cameras. He looked as dirty and unkempt as a homeless man. In his eyes there was a holy fire, and when the reporter stuck the mic in his face, Lenny showed no remorse.